


coffee and good company

by potofsoup



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, M/M, the boys being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potofsoup/pseuds/potofsoup
Summary: Ever since Captain America decided to pick a fight with the entire United Nations because doing it one country at a time was inefficient, Sam's been traveling the world with this punk named Steve, going from safe house to safe house, keeping a low profile and lending a hand to help where it’s needed.  A new, differently lumpy bed every week or two, and not much time for museums or people watching.At least he can always count on coffee.  And Steve.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41
Collections: SamSteve Small Gifts





	coffee and good company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [velociraptorerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptorerin/gifts).



> For velociraptorerin: a soft moment together while the coffee brews
> 
> Thank you SamSteve Small Gifts mods for running a fun event!

Sam hates waking up not in his own bed, but he supposes this is his life now. Sure, he’d always vaguely wanted to do one of those fancy world tours back in his college days — travel around by train and plane and bus, visit museums, buy dumb tchotchkes, sit somewhere nice and have a cup of coffee and people-watch. Instead he spent two tours in Afghanistan which was decidedly *not* the same, though he *did* get paid for it so take that, Russell Hastings. Then he went and befriended Captain America, who then decided to pick a fight with the entire United Nations because doing it one country at a time was inefficient.

So yeah, now he’s traveling the world with this punk named Steve, going from safe house to safe house, keeping a low profile and lending a hand to help where it’s needed. A new, differently lumpy bed every week or two, and not much time for museums or people watching. 

At least the company’s not bad.

Steve’s side of the bed is of course empty already — the lack of warmth was probably what woke Sam up. Sam scrubs his face with his hands and heads for the coffeepot.

His hands go through the well-worn ritual of getting the coffee started, and after that, he leans against the counter to wait for the coffee to brew, and maybe doze off a little.

“Hey Sam.” Steve curls his arm around Sam from behind and gave the nape of his neck a soft kiss. Sam mumbles a bit and lets himself be wrapped in Steve’s warmth.

“Mmm... Nat?” Sam means to say something like _What did Nat say during your morning call? Any new missions? How’s she doing?_ But since it’s Steve, he doesn’t have to be try to be verbal before coffee.

“She’s doing fine — hitting up some contacts in Tbilisi. Says there’s a youth hostel nearby that’s actually a HYDRA base, so maybe we can take that out after we finish dealing with the traffickers.”

Sam nods. Makes sense to leave with a bang — no one’s gonna want them around *after* they’ve blown up a building. And ick, a youth hostel — what a great way to radicalize idealistic college students. Russell Hastings may be a self-entitled jerk, but he’s probably not HYDRA. Sam should probably check. His mind wanders to Bucky’s deprogramming back in Wakanda — that’s who he really want to check in on — they’d be there except that Bucky had given Sam and Steve explicit instructions to stay away. 

Dammit, between the logistics and the worry, he’s actually awake.

Thankfully, Steve pulls him into a distracting kiss, and Sam leans into it eagerly. Steve tastes *amazing* in the mornings, relaxed and energized at the same time, with a bit of the cool air from his morning run. Steve chuckles at Sam’s enthusiasm and asks between nibbles of Sam’s ear and neck, “How wedded are you to this coffee? Can I distract you from it?” 

“Mmm, I’ll have you know that this coffeepot has been my one true companion for much longer than you, Steve Rogers.” He stole it from his Mama’s house when he moved to college, and it’s been with him since. Now it’s always the first thing Sam sets up when they move to a new safe house. Nothing fancy, but damn reliable. And hey, if he can’t pack his bed, at least he can make sure that coffee’s the same. 

“Yup, that’s me, the interloper.” Steve pats the coffeepot fondly, but unlatches himself long enough for Sam to pour himself a cup before reattaching himself to Steve’s back and kissing a line down Sam’s shoulder.

Not that Sam’s complaining about the attention, but it does seem to be more than usual. “Pretty handsy this morning, Rogers.”

“Well, you don’t have a shirt on,” says Steve between kisses.

Sam rolls his eyes and turns back to his coffee. “I have my shirt off lots of times, and you’ve been there for the majority.”

“Usually I’m distracted by other aspects of you, though.” Steve shifts to kiss part of his forearm. “Don’t usually get to appreciate *this*.” Sam looks down. Oh, there’s a faint line there, a bit jagged, skin stretched tight. 

Steve’s fingers trace the scar. “What’s this from?” 

"From the fight with Rumlow," Sam hummed. That was a pretty nasty fight, *before* he had to jump out of a building without a parachute.

“Thank you for taking down a secret government agency with me.” Steve kisses it reverently, then moves to another. “And this one?”

“Dove for a ball when I was short-stop in high school.”

“D’you catch the ball?”

“Yeah, but they had to pause the game so it didn’t count.”

Steve plants a loud, smacking kiss on it. “Thank you for being a doofus who makes impractical leaps for his team.” 

“At least usually I have either wings or a parachute.” Sam can’t help chuckling as he turns and pulls Steve into a proper kiss. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with your thing for my scars?”

Steve breathes softly against Sam’s neck. “I don’t scar anymore, but you ...” Here he traces a finger along a few puckered scars on Sam’s abdomen. He doesn’t have to ask where those are from, because he was there at the airport. “I get to see all the things you’ve done, all the times you’ve decided to put your body on the line, right here.”

Sam huffs a small breath and closes his eyes, relishing Steve’s touch and letting his mind wander. What would Steve’s body look like, if he did scar? Did he miss that, the ability to track his body through changes and aging? Sam definitely feels different at 36 than at 20 — more dependent on caffeine for one…. Sam’s idle wonderings screech to a halt as Steve traces a gentle hand along the long, smooth scar across his chest.

“What’s this one?” 

“That was.” It’s like his entire body is drawn into that tight line along his chest. The scar has faded by now, nothing but a thin line of slightly lighter skin, but … 

Thankfully, Steve, playful glance suddenly turned concerned, pulls Sam into a tight, all-encompassing hug, and just holds him there. 

It’s enough for Sam to take a few long slow breathes and ground himself against Steve’s bulk. Steve is *here*, not gone, not falling, not being shot at. There’s still half a cup of coffee on the counter, and the coffee machine is burbling as it reaches the end of its water supply. Present. Grounding. “It’s the shot grazed me and took out Riley’s wings.” He can still hear the artillery fire, the panic in his voice, the resignation in Riley’s.

Steve nods and kisses the scar slowly, solemnly. “Thank you for coming back from that.” 

They stay in each other’s arms for a while, thinking about the hard, slow work of coming back from seeing their best friends fall. The burning need to constantly run towards the bullets because that’s the most direct way to stop them from hitting other people. This feeling that what they do isn’t enough — it’s what keeps them moving. Another HYDRA cell busted. Another person helped. 

Finally, Steve stirs. “Coffee’s getting cold.”

Sam nods. Easy enough to put on another pot, but his mind rebels against it. On a whim, he turns back toward the bedroom to throw on some street clothes. “Saw a cafe on our way here. Y’wanna go get some proper coffee and breakfast?” 

It only takes a moment for Steve to understand. “Sure.” He grabs their baseball caps and tosses Sam his. “Be nice to take a break. Build our iron-clad cover as American tourists.” He poses with his cap and sunglasses and says with a mock frown, “I think this castle looked more authentic on the TripAdvisor photos.”

Sam laughs as he feels a weight lift. Sure, the beds are lumpy and the coffee sometimes gets cold, but being with Steve is always so *easy*. He nudges Steve’s shoulder on their way out the door. “Glad you’re here, Steve.” 

Steve plants one last kiss on the scar on Sam’s shoulder, the one from one of their recent ops. “Same.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if I messed up the coffee part. I think I've drunk coffee once in my life. My family had a coffeepot but we just used it to make hot water for tea.


End file.
